When Life Isn't Fair
by MinnieCat5
Summary: Mere days after its former occupants suddenly vacated, a magical couple move into a house in Notting Hill with their infant son. They hope to build a better life for him. The first step - make sure he understands his superior position in the world, over all of their Muggle neighbors.


**When Life Isn't Fair**

In the fine neighborhood of Notting Hill in London, in a house so old a baker's dozen families had made memories in it, the patriarch of the newest family to call the place home stood in its narrow sitting room. He ran a finger along the mantle of the ornate eighteenth-century fireplace, a satisfied smile curling at his lips. At long last, it had been completely cleansed of the Muggle filth who had occupied it previously. They, perhaps, had been more able to afford the place, but _his _family was much more worthy of it.

"Arestor?"

"In here, muffin."

The wizard called Arestor turned towards the door as the sound of his wife's heels clicked across the wood floor in the hall beyond. With a wave of his wand, the door opened for her, and she smiled at him as she stepped through. He waited quietly as her eyes scanned the room critically, though her body moved little. She was being very still so as to not disturb the little bundle in her arms. Their legacy.

"It's perfect," she finally remarked softly. They smiled at each other across the room. A little thrill went through Arestor, and in that moment he felt he knew exactly what she was thinking without evening needing Legilimency.

A knock on their front door shattered the moment, turning their smiles immediately into scowls. Arestor's wife drew their baby closer to her chest protectively. Arestor took a step closer to her and said, "Mycene, why don't I take Argus while you greet our guests."

Mycene gave him a sour look, but relaxed her hold of Argus, "I suppose they'll expect me to play the part of the dutiful housewife."

Arestor smirked at her as he carefully accepted their son. He headed for the door to deliver Argus to his nursery, but not before looking over his shoulder at his wife and remarking, "Play nicely with the Muggles, muffin. Try not to kill any of our neighbors."

Mycene scoffed and closed the distance between them, placing a kiss on his cheek and murmuring playfully, "I'd never! What do you take me for?"

He grinned at her and turned his face so that his lips were directly over hers. A spark of energy passed between them as their eyes met, and he replied softly, "Exactly what you are: a strong witch who knows her place in the world."

Mycene smiled and closed the distance between them, kissing her husband on the lips.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

It didn't take long for the Muggles to learn that their new neighbors were not the social sort. Still, there were a persistent few who seemed to think if they simply figured out exactly what the strange new couple liked to talk about, they'd make friends of them yet. Consequently, that was how Mycene ended up spending about a half-hour of her Saturday mornings standing on her stoop humoring Harriet Hardgrove from across the road. On a particular Saturday morning just over two months after Arestor and Mycene moved in, Harriet decided to try a new topic.

"Do you know anything about the family who lived here before you? Did you hear anything when you bought the house?" Harriet asked.

Mycene could tell by the way that Harriet had dropped her voice and leaned closer that was sharing something she thought was gossip-worthy. She also knew that no matter how shortly she answered, Harriet would prattle on. So, in the interest of not expending too much energy on this Muggle when she had a six-month-old in the house, she said, "No."

"_Well_, it's quite a strange story, actually. The Finches were very friendly – a sweet couple, and two darling children, a little boy and a little girl – who'd always come down for tea or to play with my boys. Martha – Martha Finch, the woman – made the most wonderful treacle tarts, everyone on the street loved them, and Walter was a banker, but not the kind who took himself far too seriously. And—"

"—I'm struggling to understand what part of this makes it a strange story," Mycene interjected drily, hoping to make this story shorter.

"Oh, it is, trust me. Alright, I'll get to the strange bit. One day – days, really, before you moved in – they simply left. All of us on the street who knew them woke up to short letters on our doorsteps, telling us they'd gone! Out of nowhere! And, what really hurts is that they didn't even leave a new address. We'll probably never see them again, and we didn't even know it!"

"That is strange," Mycene replied levelly, not finding this information interesting at all.

"You know," Harriet began. Mycene sighed inwardly, bracing herself as the Muggle made her voice even quieter, "Some of us think that it's _too_ strange. It simply doesn't make any sense. The Finches we knew would have never left like that."

"Perhaps you didn't know them," Mycene deadpanned.

"That's just it! Some of us think—" she looked around surreptitiously "—that Walter Finch might've been a _spy_. Maybe MI5, MI6 – or maybe even something foreign!" Mycene blinked at her, unimpressed. If this Muggle really believed that, then she was stupider than even Mycene had expected. Why would she trust the house's newest occupants, who moved in mere days later, with a conspiracy theory that, if correct, could get her killed? Muggles truly amazed Mycene sometimes, and never in a good way. Harriet continued, not deterred by Mycene's lack of reaction, "Perhaps they've been sent away to a new location, or—" her voice dropped to a whisper now "—I hate to say it, but what if something's happened to them?"

"Well, as someone who never met them, I doubt I have any insight," Mycene replied. She placed a hand on her doorknob, "I really should be getting back inside. Arestor can't manage Argus long without me."

"Right, of course, go on," Harriet said, waving her off with a bit of a forced smile. "Maybe next Saturday we could have tea?"

Mycene merely gave her a thin-lipped smile, not meeting her eyes, and stepped inside her house without a word. As soon as the door shut behind her, she felt a wave of tension slip from her shoulders, and she sighed heavily in relief. She marched into the kitchen, where she'd left her husband and son, and snapped, "You're dealing with her next Saturday."

Arestor looked up from his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ with a smirk, "Did the Muggle have anything of interest to say today?"

"She thinks the one who lived here before us was a spy. Evidently, they left quite suddenly," Mycene drawled as she walked around Argus's highchair to check on him.

Arestor raised his eyebrows and snorted, "You know, I've heard a similar story."

They made eye contact, amused smirks curling at their lips. Mycene broke the connection by rolling her eyes and turning to remove Argus from his highchair. Arestor's smirk widened into a grin and he shook his head, "Muggles have quite the imagination."

"I think you've been spending too much time smoking cigars with them," Mycene quipped. "That was uncharacteristically complimentary of you."

"They're good cigars," Arestor replied defensively. Mycene shot him a disapproving look with Argus on her hip. She ignored him as he pulled on strands of her brown hair.

"Well, we've worked hard to carve ourselves a place in the pureblood world. We don't want them calling us Muggle-loving halflings now," Mycene snapped.

"They won't," Arestor assured her. "We've earned our place. They may have the wealth of generations, but we have the dedication. We're probably more deserving of the privileges than most of them."

Mycene quirked an amused smile at him, "I'd love to see you try saying that to their faces."

Arestor rolled his eyes, "Only in our dreams. But perhaps we're setting our son up so that he, one day, could."

Mycene smiled fondly down at her little Argus, "I certainly hope so." She dropped a kiss on his head and murmured, "You'll never have to drag yourself up the way we've had to, little love."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

As the months turned into years, their neighbors finally gave up hope that they would be as friendly as the Finches had been. Arestor and Mycene were perfectly content to keep to themselves, though they did hire a Muggle woman to come clean their house twice a week, just for the thrill of having one be truly subservient to them. As Argus got older, they began to notice that he was a slow learner. He would eventually pick up the skills they were teaching him, but it took him longer than the books they'd read suggested it should. By the age of two, though, he was walking and saying a few words that made sense, so they weren't too worried about him. He wasn't particularly interested in the books they read him at night, but they figured that would change.

What he did seem to take to easily, though, was the way his parents treated their housemaid Hilda. Argus liked when Hilda was around because it was the only time when his parents would be amused by him making a mess rather than angry. He'd learned the word "Muggle," though he didn't quite seem to know what it meant yet. Anyone that wasn't family was a Muggle to Argus, and that was fine with his parents for now. The sentiment they wanted to teach him about the rest of the world was the same: their son needed to behave as though he were superior to everyone who wasn't part of their family, to demand the respect that he deserved, that pureblood children were just_ given_.

One Saturday afternoon when Argus was two-and-a-half, they were disturbed for the first time in a while by a knock on their door. Mycene and Arestor exchanged a glance, both pleading with the other to deal with whoever was on the other side of their front door. Mycene won, though, when Argus demanded, "Mumma, look!"

Mycene raised her eyebrows significantly at her husband before turning to look at what Argus was doing with his toys. Arestor sighed heavily and went to answer the door. Mycene listened carefully, keeping Argus quiet by pretending to be fascinated by the way his ball rolled down the wooden ramp they'd fashioned for him for his toy carriages.

"Is Mycene around?" Mycene rolled her eyes at the sound of Harriet's voice. She thought she'd finally gotten rid of that persistent Muggle.

"I'm afraid she's busy with Argus, can I pass along a message?" Arestor replied.

"I only wanted to warn you, if you haven't been affected already, that several of the houses on our street have had valuables go missing over the last couple of nights. We've alerted the police, but if you've had anything stolen you might want to make a report yourself."

"Thank you for the warning, I hope your belongings are found," Arestor said. A smile quirked at Mycene's lips as she heard the door shut soon after.

She looked up as Arestor entered, and he raised her eyebrows at her, commenting, "Did you hear? Notting Hill's got thieves."

"Terrible news," Mycene remarked in a casual tone.

"Indeed."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Mycene squeezed Arestor's bicep with a gloved hand as they stepped inside the ballroom of the Parkinson House. Her eyes immediately began to wander, greedily scanning over the ornate floor-to-ceiling architecture and the excessive amounts of food in beautiful, towering displays around the edges of the room. Both Arestor and Mycene straightened their backs, privately reminding themselves that they belonged here. They deserved this kind of luxury. They were building this for themselves, and hopefully, one day, their son would live in a place like this.

"Mycene! Arestor!" Agrippina Parkinson appeared suddenly in front of them and reached forward to kiss Mycene on both cheeks. Her husband, Peregrine Parkinson, stepped forward to shake Arestor's hand. When Agrippina drew away, she said, "We're so glad you could make it. And I _love_ your earrings. Are they a family heirloom?"

"Thank you, and no, I just got them," Mycene replied with a smile.

Agrippina leaned forward and gripped her wrist tightly, "Then you _must_ tell me where you get your secondhand jewelry, they're such a find! Oh – later?" And with that, she and Peregrine were pulled off to another part of the room to entertain more of their guests.

Mycene turned stiffly towards her husband and frowned up at him, muttering, "I told you we should've just bought me something, it's obvious—"

"—_we can't afford—_"

"—don't you _dare_ say those words in this place!" she hissed. Mycene shook her head and straightened, looking around the room to see if anyone's curious eyes were on them.

Arestor put a gentle hand on her back, "Let's try to enjoy ourselves. Remember, we need to always be networking. It's all for Argus."

Mycene nodded, loosening just a little, "Of course."

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Six-year-old Argus laid on the floor of his sitting room in Notting Hill reading a picture book while Hilda the housemaid dusted. Well, he wasn't really reading. He was only pretending to, because what he really wanted to focus his attention on was what Hilda was doing. He was eager for her to find the trap he'd set for her with a piece of string and an unspeakable amount of butter. By now, he understood the difference between a Muggle and a wizard. Wizards were the superior race of humans, capable of performing magic to get precisely what they wanted from the lower race of humans, Muggles. He understood that he came from a long line of half-bloods who'd worked hard to fit in with those wizards with the purest magical blood, and that he might have the riches and opulence that those families had if only his more foolish ancestors had not interbred with Muggles. He understood that Hilda was a Muggle, and therefore no more significant than the frogs he liked to capture in the garden.

A grin slowly spread onto Argus's face as Hilda opened the door and stepped into the hall. His mother looked up from the book she was reading as he sat up and quietly crawled across the floor to peek through the door. "Argus—" she began in a warning tone, but she was quickly cut off by the surprised scream of Hilda the housemaid, and the subsequent loud thud she made as she hit the wood floor.

Mycene was up in an instant, wrenching the door open all the way to see what had happened. Arestor came running from his office with his wand drawn, which he quickly put away at the sight of Hilda groaning on the floor. Argus's eyes widened with delight as he watched his father take in the scene. His little trick had an unexpected consequence; in an apparent attempt to catch herself from falling, Hilda had grabbed the nearest door handle, but had only succeeded in opening the door. That door just so happened to be the door that was _forbidden_ for Hilda to open, for it was where they kept wizard things like cauldrons and broomsticks and more questionable books and substances. Argus grinned as he watched his father's face turn red with anger.

But that was the last thing he remembered of that afternoon.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Hilda never returned after that day, though Argus never gave much thought to it. She'd never liked him, so he imagined he'd simply pushed her over the edge with his final prank. The idea of that made him feel powerful.

Yet, it was the only thing that made him feel powerful these days. He'd yet to experience his first bit of accidental magic. His parents assured him that he'd been a late bloomer when it came to every developmental benchmark, and that his magic would come. Still, without Hilda to boss around, he began to feel worried. He began to feel inferior to his parents, like _he_ was the Muggle in the house. For the first time in his life, Argus began to find books appealing. He began reading about magic tricks at the library and practicing them his room, hoping that he would somehow trigger his own magic to help him. He never did. He became quite good at the Muggle magic tricks, though, and began to entertain people at his school with them. He'd never sought attention from his peers before, because his parents had taught him that he was superior to them all and not to socialize with them, but he discovered he quite liked entertaining them. He told himself it was because they were so easily impressed, as Muggles. He pushed away any treacherous thoughts that he might actually enjoy their company.

Argus always separated himself from the Muggles on the playground after performing one of his tricks. Usually, he'd go on a swing by himself or bounce a ball against a wall. After a trick where he'd made a coin "appear" behind someone's ear, though, one of the Muggle girls followed him over to the empty swing of his choice.

"Is it real?"

He turned and scowled at her, instinctively feeling defensive, "Of course it's real."

She looked around, and then whispered, "I can make things happen too."

Argus blinked and jerked his head back. He crossed his arms over his chest and demanded, "Prove it."

She flushed, "Well, I'm not nearly as good at it as you, you seem to really know what you're doing. For me, it usually happens when I'm really upset, or angry."

Argus's heart started racing in his chest. That's what his parents had always told him. They speculated he was too happy a child to display accidental magic, which they assured him was far from a bad thing. But Argus had tried. He'd really tried to get angry, particularly at school, with his teachers or his peers, whenever he felt they were doing something unfair. He'd not been able to make anything happen.

He stuck his chin up, though, and replied, "That's really low-level stuff. That's how it starts. People like us don't usually learn to control it until they're eleven. Haven't your parents told you that?"

"My parents can't make things happen the way I can," she whispered, her eyes wide. "You must be really smart, if you can control it already."

"What do you mean your parents can't?" he scowled. "That doesn't make any sense!"

"So _your_ parents can?"

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Mycene scanned the playground for Argus's usual spots when she came to pick him up that afternoon, and blinked in surprise when she found her son talking with a girl his age. A slight frown curled at her lips. She'd been afraid of this, in sending him to a Muggle school. But she and Arestor couldn't afford a private tutor, and Argus definitely needed help with his reading and writing.

Argus's teacher, Mrs. Raymond, waved at Mycene and walked over to the fence to greet her, "It's good to see you, Mrs. Filch."

Mycene nodded, "Who's that Argus is talking to?"

Mrs. Raymond smiled, "Her name's Irma Pince. I'm so glad she decided to talk to him after his little show today. He usually goes off on his own—"

"—little show?" Mycene asked sharply, a jolt of excitement shooting through her heart.

Mrs. Raymond's eyebrows twitched slightly, but she replied smoothly, "You know, his magic tricks. He's quite good at them."

Mycene's eyes darted back over to her son, a small smile curling at her lips, "Of course he is." She then met Mrs. Raymond directly in the eyes and said, "Get him for me?"

Mrs. Raymond nodded and left to fetch Argus.

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

Argus and his mother walked in silence to their Apparition point, both of them with their heads full of questions they were eager to ask. When they appeared in their sitting room in Notting Hill, Mycene got hers out first, "Have you been controlling your undeveloped magic behind our backs?"

Arestor, who'd been sitting in his preferred armchair and hadn't looked up from his book when they appeared, immediately put his book down and looked at his son.

Argus had gone sheet white. "Er – I…"

Mycene crossed her arms over her chest and raised an amused brow, "Mrs. Raymond told me you put on shows for your peers. Let's see it, then."

Argus stared, slack-jawed and terrified, up at his mother. Her expression was quickly turning into one of impatience, though, so with a shaking hand he removed his coin from his pocket and held it out for her to see. Without any of the showmanship he'd learned to display in front of his peers, he rubbed his hands together and then showed her his empty hands. He didn't look up at her face. He didn't want to see the way her face began to fall as she realized what he was doing, when she realized he was doing_ Muggle_ magic.

He wasn't nearly tall enough to pull the coin out from behind her ear, so he settled with her hand. Mycene pulled it away, though, when he reached for it. Argus froze. His little heart pounded in his chest.

"Argus." Argus shut his eyes tightly at the sound of his mother's voice. He was truly trembling now. Her voice was quiet and icy cold. This was it. He was going to be exposed as a Muggle. After talking to Irma today and realizing that she was a witch born to Muggles, he realized that it was possible that a Muggle could be born to wizards. After listening to her stories of her accidental magic, there was no question in his mind what he was. And he knew his parents would hate him for it. He hated him for it. He hated Irma for it. It wasn't fair. Perhaps she'd somehow gotten his magic. Anger and jealousy reared in his chest, but still, he did not open his eyes. He could not look at his mother.

"Argus." Argus's blood went cold. That was his father's voice. At some point, Arestor had stood up from his chair and came to stand behind Argus. Argus shrunk away, but Arestor placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and forced him to turn around, "Look at me."

Out of fear, Argus obeyed. Arestor met him levelly in the eye with a serious expression, "Where did you learn that?"

"In a book," he whispered.

Arestor nodded. Father and son stared at each other for a long moment, one with hard, unreadable eyes and the other with wide, fearful ones. After what seemed to Argus like an eternity, Arestor said quietly, "Mycene. Leave us."

A jolt of fear shot through Argus, and he instinctively took a step back, closer to his mother. Arestor tightened his grip on his shoulder, though, keeping him close. Argus did not hear his mother move behind him, which comforted him. He desperately wanted to grab her legs and never let go.

"Mycene, it's time for a little father-son chat. Give us a moment?"

Argus's heart dropped to his stomach when he heard Mycene finally move. He didn't dare turn away from his father, but the sounds of her leaving them alone made his heart beat even faster in his chest. As soon as the door shut behind Mycene, Arestor pushed him to the ground. Argus looked up at him with wide eyes. Arestor got down on the floor with him and rolled him onto his stomach. With one hand, he pressed Argus's chest against the floor, and with the other, he began to spank him. Argus cried out in surprise and pain when his father's hand connected with his behind the first time. His parents had never hit him. They'd treated him like a little prince. It was shocking. It was painful. It was heartbreaking.

"_Don't. You. EVER. Do one of those filthy Muggle magic tricks again. They're pathetic!_" he ground out in anger, emphasizing each word with another blow. Argus was wailing, though he wasn't quite sure of when he'd started.

Suddenly, Arestor grabbed his shoulder and flipped him onto his back. Argus's hands and knees came up defensively as he looked up at his father with wild eyes and a red, wet face. Arestor's face came down, inches away from Argus's own and beet red, and yelled, "_FIGHT BACK! AREN'T YOU SCARED? FIGHT BACK!_"

He then started pummeling Argus in the chest. Argus tried to block him with his limbs, push him away, _fight back_ as his father had told him to, but Arestor was much stronger than him. He willed with all his mind, body, and heart for Arestor to go flying across the room, away from him. He shoved his hands into his father's chest repeatedly, desperate for magic to finally escape his hands. Still, no magic came. His nose was bleeding, and he could hardly open his eyes. He lost the energy to fight back, and started screaming for his mother. She was a witch. She could save him.

"_Arestor!_"

Relief briefly filled his heart at the sound of his mother's voice, but it was quickly blown out of him by his father's fist.

"Arestor! Someone is going to hear him! Stop it!"

Still, Arestor did not stop. Argus, curled up in a ball on the floor, started sobbing harder than he'd ever had.

But then, suddenly, it stopped, and soon after he heard a distant thud, the distinct sound of something heavy hitting a wall, like one of the balls he liked playing with on the playground. For a wild moment, Argus thought that he'd finally done it, that he was a wizard after all, but then his mother fell to her knees beside him, and he heard the distinct sound of her wand clattering against the floor. She'd done it.

Mycene placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and began cooing soothingly over him, assuring him softly that he was okay, that everything was okay. She whispered into his ear, "Argus. Argus, I want you to know, you are more important to me than anything in this world. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" Argus's heart soared and he clung to her legs tightly, soaking her dress with tears and blood.

Her comforting hand froze, though, when the sound of sirens came down their street. Argus peered up at her through his swollen eyes and saw her looking around the room quickly. He watched her pick up her wand, and to his horror, she started bruising herself. She then summoned Arestor's wand, stuffed both wands up her sleeve, and then swiftly picked him up, running for the door.

She met the police car outside as it stopped at the curb and said, "Please, please help me! My son – he's badly hurt, he needs help – my husband, he's very – he's an angry man, I've been so afraid. Please, he's killed people—"

/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/~/

The rest of the afternoon and early evening passed in a blur for Argus. His father had been arrested for the murders of the Finches and Hilda, on top of child and domestic abuse. Someone eventually arrived to tend to his wounds, and they were kind and gentle with him, but it was all very confusing because these people were clearly all Muggles. His mother was letting them help. They were successfully being helpful. They weren't so useless. But he was still angry. He was supposed to be better than them. But he was just like them.

He watched Mycene talk to a Muggle constable, just out of earshot. Perhaps too much had happened in a short period of time, but he still couldn't make sense of his mother. He didn't understand why she'd hurt herself. He didn't understand how she'd chosen to turn on his father rather than escape with them both. A small part of Argus thought that if his mother could love him even though he didn't have magic, his father could too. They could've tried, together. His parents had always seemed like a single unit, in agreement on all things and united against the rest of the world. None of this made sense to Argus.

Mycene glanced his way and made eye contact with him. Goosebumps raised on Argus's skin. The blank expression on her face made her look like the same, hardened, world-hating witch he'd always known, and for a brief moment he had a glimpse of clarity: his mother hadn't changed at all. But as soon as the thought crossed his mind, it was gone, and he couldn't grasp it again to make sense of it.

"How are you doing?"

Argus broke the connection with his mother and looked around at the Muggle who'd been patching him up. He wasn't sure what to say.

"It's alright if you're not doing too well," the Muggle man continued. "You've been through quite a lot. It's going to take some time to move on from all this."

Argus looked down at his knees.

"Look, I don't think I'm going to see you again after tonight, so if it's alright with you, I'd like to pass on a little bit of wisdom someone once told me," the Muggle said. Hesitantly, Argus looked up at the man once again. The Muggle gave him a reassuring smile and said, "Don't let yesterday take up too much of today."

Argus's brow furrowed in confusion.

The Muggle cracked a smile, "What it means is, try not to let the past hurt you so much in the present. In the right now. Of course, it will take some time, but one day I hope you can leave all this behind you."

Argus nodded slowly. Everything that had happened that day, from talking to Irma to now talking to this kind Muggle, left him feeling overwhelmed and extremely confused. He wasn't quite sure if he knew anything at all anymore. One thing he did know, though, was that he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget his father's red, angry face, no matter what happened after today. All because he was a wizard-born Muggle. He scowled.


End file.
